Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

October weather in Elmville is a temperamental beast. Some days, it’s perfectly pleasant: warm temperatures with only an occasional cool breeze as a reminder of the fall season. Others, the wind snarls into something with far more bite to it. And in the early morning hours before the sun has risen to heat it, that air turns downright frigid.

Adaine shivers as another gust tears through her, rubbing her arms vigorously, trying to ignite even the smallest spark of heat through friction. It’s a fruitless effort. Every flurry cuts through her meager layers with the precision of a freshly sharpened knife. Gritting her teeth, she hurries ahead toward the stairs leading up to the school’s front entrance. The length of the building is long enough that it should block the worst of it. If she’s lucky, maybe that will be enough to help her.

She’s not, and it isn’t.

She is still absolutely freezing.

Riz is already sitting by the front door as she approaches. He’s bundled up in an old, ratty looking trenchcoat and clutching a silver cylinder up against his chest. Curled up so tight the way he is, he looks the perfect embodiment of that ridiculous nickname forced onto him that Fabian refuses to let go of. He also looks somehow even smaller, easy to overlook; the only reason she spotted him at all is because of the light pouring out of one of the windows hanging above him.

She wonders if that was done on purpose.

One of his ears twitches at the sound of her footsteps. “Hey.”

“Hello.” She moves to settle against one of the support columns just across from him. “You’re here early,” she says, as if it’s anywhere close to a normal hour for either of them to be here. For any student to be here.

Riz shrugs. “I kinda thought you probably would be given uh….” His sentence trails off, the last word being swallowed by a nervous cough as he glances off to the side at nothing. He clears his throat. “And I mean… there’s girls going missing, and we still don’t know who’s being targeted for that so… Buddy system. Just in case.”

“Oh…” She’s torn between feeling touched at his concern for her, or being annoyed at his lack of faith in her ability to handle herself. She’s not sure which feeling is stronger. It’s hard to gauge.

Although…

Her fingers drift toward her neck. Maybe he has good reason to doubt her.

Another gust of chilled wind blasts through. Her muscles tense, as if tension alone will somehow repel the cold from sinking into her bones. It, of course, doesn’t work. She hunches forward, shivering fiercely, and resumes her furious pace from before as she starts rubbing at her arms again. It doesn’t do anything to help this time either, but at least it’s something else to focus on.

When the wind dies down Riz unfurls himself the slightest bit and uncaps the lid on what she now recognizes is a tall, scratched up, slightly dented thermos. His gleaming yellow eyes trace over her shuddering form and, before he takes a sip of it himself, he extends it out to her. “Coffee?” he offers.

Her nose scrunches at the bitter aroma wafting toward her. “N-no thanks,” she gets out through her chattering teeth. She’s never enjoyed the smell of coffee before, but now it smells outright foul to her. “I don’t know if I could anyway.” Another rush of air. Another shiver. “Even if I wanted to.”

“Ah… Right.” Riz stays like that for a moment, fingers tapping restlessly along the metal surface, like he doesn’t know what else to do with them, until he finally pulls back. Steam billows up into his face as he stares down into the void of his thermos, brow furrowed, as if he's searching for something inside of it. “How uh… how are you holding up with everything?” 

Her nails dig so hard into her sleeve she feels them poking against her skin. Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. “I’m fine.”

It doesn’t even sound convincing to her own ears.

Riz grimaces at her answer. “Did I make this awkward? This feels really awkward. I’m definitely doing this wrong.” He groans, sliding a hand across his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to ask about these kinds of things. Not without it coming out really weird.”

She wants to be mad at him—and maybe part of her is. At him and all the others. With everything that happened two nights ago…

The way she was left stranded in the middle of the club as it thumped with too-loud, terrible music. How she was forced to stare down the angry maw of frothing, feral werewolf completely on her own. The relief she felt when she managed to dodge the snapping teeth and avoid contracting lycanthropy, only for it to be drained right out of her when she stumbled into the waiting fangs of a vampire hidden nearby instead. 

When she thinks about all of that…

How is she supposed to be holding up?

She sucks in a sharp breath past her even sharper teeth. “Can we just… not right now? Please? I don’t really want to talk about it.” If she talks about it, she’s going to start feeling things about it; if she starts feeling things about it, she’s going to get angry. Or start panicking. 

Or both.

And she’d really prefer to not do either before the school day even starts.

She’s expecting more push back, but to her surprise, Riz acquiesces easily. “Yeah,” he nods slowly. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair. It’s… a lot.”

She lets out a sound somewhere between a huff and a laugh. ‘A lot’.

Understatement of the fucking millennia.

It’s quiet again, save for the whistling of the wind around them as Riz takes another sip of his coffee. He tilts his head back and forth, as if weighing the words in his mind before he finally says, “So uh… I was thinking about doing some research in the library today.”

The awkward tone he’s using is not a great sign. “Something about the missing girls?” she guesses.

He winces. “About uh… vampires.”

Her breath briefly catches in her throat. She tries not to let it show. “Okay…” It’s not about her specifically; she’ll allow it.

“Yeah. I tried to look some stuff up online when I got home last night but… that was pretty unhelpful. Mostly just learned that there’s a bunch of people that are really horny for them. In so many weird ways.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Pretty sure I’m gonna need whatever the crystal equivalent of bleach is to clean my search history after that.”

She snorts, nearly a laugh. “Gross.”

“Right?” Briefly, Riz grins at her. It’s almost a nice moment. “But uh… yeah. I was hoping the library would be a little more helpful. Maybe… maybe there’s some way to reverse it. Like a cure that Kristen could cast or something.”

Her mouth feels dry. “Yeah, maybe,” she agrees numbly, ignoring the pit in the bottom of her stomach that tells her no, there isn’t going to be a cure for this. Not without something short of a miracle anyway.

She swallows hard and says nothing.

More angry wind buffets against them both. Riz scowls as he shivers. “Okay, it’s too cold for this.” He caps his thermos and motions for her to follow as he stands up. “Come on, we can start our research early. If we’re lucky, we’ll find something before the others get here.”

Luck hasn’t been her strong suit lately, but she won’t protest getting out of this weather.

The doors are probably supposed to be locked at this hour, but she’s not at all surprised when he swings it open without an issue. It’s Riz. When would something like that stop him?

The air rushing out from the building is significantly warmer. She can hear the dull roar of the school’s heating system humming through the vents as they head inside. It should be a pleasant feeling, but it does absolutely nothing to help warm her up.

Adaine still feels freezing cold.

Chapter Text

Teething, she’s always heard, is a terrible experience for babies to go through. It’s a painful process that leaves them crying for hours with no way for them to understand what’s happening or to make it stop. She doesn't remember if that's true or not—she, like all former babies, was too young to form memories of it whenever it happened to her.

But there’s this vague, itching like ache along her gums just underneath every tooth she has that brings the thought to mind, and she can’t help but wonder if maybe that experience is at all comparable to what she’s dealing with now.

Carefully, she slides her tongue over the surface of her teeth, mindful of the two elongated points in the place where her canines were. She’s never thought much about the real estate space of her mouth before, but now she finds it impossible to focus on anything else. A small shift to either side, a pair of sharp pinpricks constantly poking into her bottom lip—it’s not a drastic change, really, but it’s just enough to feel uncanny. Like it’s just to the left of being correct, and if she just pushes on them enough, everything will snap back into place.

They don't, no matter how hard she tries. 

Everything in her mouth feels so odd. There’s the pain of it for one, the dull throb constantly pressing against her gum line, only slightly relieved when she clenches jaw. As well as a persistent drought level dryness that seems to be growing worse by the hour and is entirely unhelped by water (she’s tried multiple times already). And, to her ears at least, a strange sibilance seems to accompany every word she speaks, harsh and sizzling, making the motion feel foreign. As if she's a stranger trying to navigate around her own teeth.

She really hopes she’s just imagining that part. The last thing she needs is for her parents or Aelwyn to accuse her of speaking with a lisp.

The most bizarre part of all though is a twinge she keeps feeling jolt through her teeth, sharp and electric. It’s not quite painful, but it is attention grabbing. And it seems to get worse the more she looks at others.

…She doesn’t want to think about what that could mean. She stares forward instead.

She’s sitting next to Gorgug in the gym for a ‘duo’ lesson—a type of assignment freshmen are randomly forced to take pairs in sometimes to test for ‘party cohesion’ or the like. Adaine doesn’t really know or, at this point, care. Coach Daybreak up at the front is supposed to be giving them a combat assessment of some sort, but someone asked about the subject of the word of Helio to deliberately distract him, and judging by the sermon he’s practically giving about the topic now, she doesn’t think that will be happening any time soon.

The plastic of the bleachers squeaks underneath her as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. The gym is usually one of the warmest places in the building because of its terrible ventilation. Today is no exception—she can hear another student further down from her let out a harsh whisper in complaint about the temperature as they fan themselves with a paper folder. It's supposed to be borderline sweltering in here.

But Adaine still feels cold.

A shiver overtakes her at the same time as another strange twinge shocks through her mouth. She’s not ready for it, and her jaw clenches before she can pull her tongue back; her sharpened teeth chomp down on the side of it.

A literal hiss of pain tears out of her throat—long and loud. Like a cat raising its hackles. Quickly, she slaps her hands over her mouth in horror as soon as she realizes what’s happening, but not in time to stop several other nearby students from turning to look at her. She recoils at their bewildered stares and ducks her head.

Great. Now everyone is going to think she’s lost it. Fan-fucking-tastic.

There's a nudge at her side. “Are you okay?” Gorgug asks, voice low as he leans closer to her.

“Mm-hm,” she utters, not trusting herself enough to speak. Gorgug hums, but doesn’t respond.

She stares down at her lap, posture tense and breathing heavy. This is mortifying. If the ground could just open up and swallow her whole, right here and now, that would be great. 

It, of course, does not.

Eventually, once her breaths don’t come out so ragged, she drops her hands and slowly lifts her head. The other students have thankfully lost interest in her, turning back to their own conversations and daydreams. Her next exhale is relieved. Maybe she can just move on like this never happened.

Gorgug, however, is still looking at her. “So uh… you hiss now?”

Of course she’s not that lucky.

Her shoulder shoots up to her ears. “Apparently,” she says—more squeaks, really, and she winces. Why is this her life?

“Oh. Well… that’s cool, I guess.” She shoots him an annoyed look. Regret flashes across his features almost immediately. “What uh… did something happen, or…?” He trails off, scratching awkwardly at the back of his head.

Does she have to say it? “I… I bit my tongue,” she admits. It feels so childish to say out loud—this isn’t a problem she should be having. Not at this age. She hugs herself tight, suppressing another round of chills.

“Oh, that sucks,” Gorgug says, nodding sympathetically. “I hate when I do that.”

It’s not pleasant, no. Gingerly, she presses her tongue up against her inner cheek. There’s a small spasm of pain along the side of it. It’s uncomfortable, but it could be worse.

At least she didn’t accidentally give herself a piercing.

She sighs, shoulders sagging, “Gods, I just... This is all so fucking weird…”

“What? Daybreak?”

“No." She hesitates. "Well, yes.” Did he just say ‘no homo’ while talking about a long dead Solesian war criminal? Oh, whatever. “But I was… I meant me. This. All of it, but especially everything with the…” She clicks her teeth. 

“Fangs?” Gorgug supplies.

She swallows back the uncomfortable urge to hiss again, to bare them at him for saying the word. “Yeah. Them.” Fingers trail up near her mouth and poke experimentally against her upper lip, right where the fangs sit. The spot where they connect to her gums aches, but otherwise, aside from being longer, they feel fine. They feel like perfectly normal teeth.

At least, until they twinge again.

She sighs a frustrated sigh and moves to run her hand through her hair instead. “I hate this. So fucking much.” She wants nothing more than to take some pliers and force them out of her skull, make this all just go away. Would that even work? She has no idea. "They're not supposed to be there. This isn't a thing elves are supposed to have, but they're there just... in the way, making everything feel like... It's like..." She fumbles for the words.

“It’s like they've moved everything around, and now it's like you have to relearn how to use your mouth all over again, right?” He nods. “Yeah, I get that. It sucks.”

She blinks. “How did you…?”

He shrugs, suddenly growing sheepish. “Half-orcs aren’t uh… I wasn’t born with my tusks. They came in later. Way later than the rest of my teeth. I was ten or eleven I think?” He shakes his head, grimacing at the memory. “The whole thing was pretty rough. Probably the worst summer of my life. Everything coming in and moving stuff… it hurt really, really bad. And then having to relearn just how to bite things made me feel really stupid.”

She winces—part sympathy, part another twinge in her own mouth. “That sounds awful.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t great. My parents tried to help but,” He shrugs again, nervously fiddling with one of the strings of his hoodie. “Gnomes. They're great, but they just don't really get some things, y’know?”

Parents who try to understand their kid... what's that like, she wonders. “How long did it take for you to... adjust?”

His expression turns thoughtful, staring toward the ceiling as he concentrates. "The first few months were the worst. Right when I thought I had something down, stuff would move again and I'd have to figure it out all over again. That was rough. Once that stopped though it got better."

"A few months...?" She can't help the crest-fallen voice that comes out of her. As if she didn't feel awkward in her own skin enough as it was, now she has months of this feeling bad too?

"I mean, it'll probably be different for you, right? You've got different kind of stuff going on. So it might be faster." He shrugs again for lack of a better gesture, gives her an awkward smile that's probably supposed to be more reassuring than it looks. "At least your stuff grew in immediately. You won't have to relearn how to bite into an apple every few weeks. You've got that going for you at least."

No, she won't. Because she won't be biting into apples or any other kind of fruit at all. There's only one kind of thing these teeth are meant to bite into.

The jolt again at the thought.

She wraps her arms around her torso as chills wrack through her body again. Another hiss slips out of her before she can stop it. It’s no less embarrassing than before.

At least it was quieter this time.

“Oh, are you cold? Here.” And before she can stop him, Gorgug is pulling off his hoodie and dumping it into her lap. “You can wear this.”

Immediately she tries to push it back to him. “Gorgug, no I can’t-”

“It’s fine. I offered,” he assures her. “It’s kinda hot in here anyway. I don’t need it right now.”

A part of her wants to protest further, insist that he take it back, but the smile he gives her before he turns back to the front makes the words wither away in her throat. It’d be stupid to get into an argument with a friend over something like this, she decides, and quietly slips it over her head. It’s huge on her, of course, she’s practically swimming in fabric, but it’s soft and comfortable. It almost feels like a hug. She can see why Gorgug likes it so much. She holds it close to herself and breathes in. The smell of floral detergent is strong; it must’ve been washed recently.

It’s all a very nice feeling. But it does nothing to help her warm up. She’s still left shivering against the cold that clings onto her bones like a cat stubbornly digging its claws into a tree. She lets out a shuddering breath.

It hasn’t been that long, but she’s not sure she remembers what true warmth feels like anymore.

Chapter Text

If she had to pick one location as her least favorite place in the entire school, it would be the cafeteria. It’s not because of the awful memories of fighting corn monsters or the echoing sound of Doreen’s voice haunting her thoughts (though, those things certainly don’t help). Nor is it anything to do with the strange odor of old food that seems to permeate the walls of the whole room (which also smells even worse to her now).

It’s because of all the damn people in it.

It makes sense: it’s the place where the entire student body is meant to eat. It’d be weirder if it weren’t so packed this time of day. But she still hates it. No matter how many times she tries to tell herself otherwise, she’s never been able to shake the feeling that people are always staring at her. Judging her. Like by having lunch she’s giving a performance and they’re an audience eagerly waiting to rip her to shreds over every detail.

The feeling is even worse today. She feels more hyper-aware of others than she ever has before—the way people are walking, where they sit, how many there are at each table around her. All these details. She can’t stop focusing on them. The twinge in her teeth grows stronger the more she looks around, as does a need for something else. A kind of pressure that’s missing in her mouth.

Like she wants to bite something.

“You know, it's a shame you‘re not having this lunch, Adaine. Cause I think Gilear absolutely knocked it out of the park on his first day as lunch lad.” The sound of Fig’s voice startles her out of her head and brings her attention back to her own table, where her friends are poking at their lunches with varying levels of enthusiasm. Her gaze flickers between what’s on Fig’s tray and over to the serving window where Gilear’s standing.

It’s almost impressive how such a wet, miserable looking elf can create such bone-dry looking macaroni.

“Right… I’ll take your word for it,” she says, unsure. Teeth twinging one more time, she pulls her gaze away and refocuses back on the empty space on the table in front of her.

Well… no. Not entirely empty. There’s a juice box Kristen gave to her when she’d said she couldn’t eat what they were having. Something about it feeling wrong to see Adaine sitting there with absolutely nothing, according to what she’d told her.

Pity, apparently, comes in grape flavor.

“Hey, uh, Adaine? Speaking of eating, when was the last time you actually ate something?” Kristen suddenly pipes up. “Like… have you had anything to eat since the other night? Or uh… drank, I guess? Is that how this works now?” Nobody bothers to answer Kristen. They all look over at Adaine instead.

Thirst coats her mouth with a desert-level dryness; she says nothing.

The silence speaks volumes in and of itself.

“Adaine!” Fig chides beside her. “You can’t not eat!” A low rumble of similarly concerned sentiments sounds off around the table.

She scowls. Like she doesn't already know that. “And how would you suggest I go about fixing that? There isn’t exactly an accommodation for this on the menu.” And frankly, even if it was, she doesn’t think she’d trust Gilear to be the one to handle that.

Fig shrugs, seeming to wilt slightly at the sudden intensity. “I dunno. You go up to someone and just…?” She mimics a dramatic biting motion.

Adaine feels her teeth sting at the sight of it. “I’m not just going to ambush someone so that I can… so I can take their…” She can’t bring herself to say it.

She shudders, another intense chill taking hold of her. How is it that in such a packed space she’s still so absolutely frigid?

“I wasn’t saying you had to ambush anyone for it,” Fig insists, brushing past her discomfort. “You could probably just like, ask? Do it with their permission?”

Adaine frowns, rubs her arms more fiercely, in equal part to try and smooth out the goosebumps crawling up them and out of anxious habit. She doesn’t like talking to random people just about normal, everyday topics; even small talk about the weather is enough to make her want to throw herself out a window on a particularly bad day—which given how it’s gone so far, this definitely qualifies. How in the world would she ever broach a subject like this?

“Hi, would you be willing to let me, a complete stranger, take a quick bite from you? I just need some of your blood is all!”

Absolutely not. 

Gorgug's expression turns bemused. “Are there people that would do that kind of thing voluntarily?”

“Yes,” Riz says, suddenly sounding very tired. “Yes, there are. Happily. Way too happily.”

“And how would you know that, The Ball?” Fabian teases, an eyebrow quirked. “A hidden interest you’d like to divulge?”

Riz’s cheeks suddenly turn a darker shade of green as blush creeps over them. He covers his hands with his face, muttering something between his fingers that sounds vaguely like, “I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

Fabian lets out a long, loud laugh, slapping the table and making the trays shake. Having met his father, she can imagine where he picked up the habit from.

Adaine groans. “Can we please not make this any weirder than it already is?” 

“Hey, I’m not trying to make it weird! I’m just trying to problem solve,” Fig fires back, putting her hands out defensively. “Look, there were a decent amount of vampires in that club, right? And yeah, fuck the guy that bit you, glad those werewolves rocked his shit, he deserved it. But outside of incidents with weird mind-controlling DJs, it’s not like you hear about people being killed or turned all the time in Elmville. So they’ve gotta have some safe way of sustaining themselves. And I mean, people volunteer to donate blood all the time, so…”

Adaine’s face scrunches. “I don’t think those are quite the same thing.”

“It’s a similar concept.”

“No, they’re definitely not,” Riz agrees. Fig puffs out a pout. A thoughtful look suddenly lights up in his eyes as his hands drop from his face. “But it’s not a bad idea.” 

A horrified squeak startles out of her. Surely he can’t be seriously suggesting she actually…?

“No, no, not the whole ‘weirdo stranger volunteers’ part!” Riz quickly clarifies, eyes wide and shaking his head so fast she’s surprised it doesn’t fly off his shoulders. “I meant the blood donation thing. It’s a good thought. Blood banks exist, hospitals have supplies and stuff. We could raid one and stockpile some for you.” Mutters of consideration echo around the table.

She blinks, lost for words. What kind of bizarre life is she leading that this is a thing being seriously considered for her sake?

“What? Guys, no.” Kristen looks up from the fight she’s been waging between her fork and a very limp looking piece of lettuce. “We can’t do that. People need that for like, emergencies and stuff.”

“A friend going hungry sure sounds like an emergency to me,” Fig argues, surprisingly passionate.

Embarrassment pins her ears back against the side of her head. “It’s not that big a deal…” she mutters. After all, it’s not like she’s unused to missing meals. 

She… probably shouldn’t mention that to them, the rate things are going at right now.

Another jolt shocks through her teeth. Harsher this time. More demanding. She winces, but ignores it.

Her friends do the same with her statement.

Kristen’s expression falters. “Okay, yeah. I guess, but…” She stabs her fork harder against her salad. It bends against the pressure, cracking the handle and sending small pieces of plastic flying across the table. She huffs. “It just feels kinda wrong, you know?”

Gorgug pulls an unused spare fork off his own tray and hands it to her. “To be fair, I don’t think there’s gonna be like, a really ethical way to do this. It’s blood. It’s not supposed to be outside of people. It's gonna be kinda freaky no matter how we get it.” He winces and gives an apologetic glance to Adaine. “Sorry, was that mean? It felt kinda mean.”

She shrugs. She feels kind of freaky at this point, so maybe that’s fitting.

“Since when do we care about the ethics of things?” Fabian scoffs. “And while that plan might work, it seems like such a hassle. We’d have to do it so many times. Surely there has to be something better in place for this kind of thing.” His fingers tap against the surface of the table in a rhythmless pattern. He lets out a long hum, then leans back and pulls his crystal out and starts to tap away on it instead.

“What, you think you can just find blood to purchase on the internet?” Riz snorts. “Pretty sure that’s not a thing you can do.”

Fabian glances up from the screen. “Oh, The Ball. You can buy anything if you have the right connections,” he says, tilting his head with a smirk. Riz rolls his eyes and mutters something sour about ‘rich people’ under his breath.

“That sounds really disturbing when the thing we’re talking about is blood, you know that, right?” Kristen says grimly.

Adaine’s inclined to agree.

“Okay, well, future plans are all well and good, but that doesn’t do anything to help Adaine out right now,” Fig points out with a frustrated huff. She stares at Adaine for a moment, seeming to mull something over, before she suddenly nods once, resolute. “Okay, fine. If it’s the idea of it being a stranger that bugs you so much then I’ve got a real easy solution to that.” 

“What kind of solution are yo–?” Adaine flinches as Fig, suddenly sitting much closer to her than she was before, thrusts her arm right underneath her nose.

“Drink up!” she encourages. A glance over at her reveals she’s shed her jacket, and is holding her arm by the elbow to help keep it steady.

Adaine grimaces. “Fig…” 

“What? I’m not being weird about it, I swear!”

“I disagree,” Fabian chimes in, still scrolling. “You’ve made this extremely weird. There’s absolutely nothing about this interaction you could possibly call normal.”

Fig looks back at him with a scowl. “Well unless you’ve got any bright ideas on how to help right now, I don’t wanna hear it!” She turns back to Adaine with an encouraging grin. “C’mon! I’m serious: take a bite. I don’t mind! It’ll be a sick scar.”

She shoves her arm forward toward her again, this time with so much enthusiasm she nearly bops Adaine in the chin with it. Adaine grumbles and reaches up with the intent to push her arm away, but stops the moment her fingers wrap around it. Blazing heat radiates off her friend's body. It’s not enough to warm her frozen fingers, but it is incredibly distracting.

She hasn’t seen Fig without her jacket on in the time since she’s met her. Streaked across the devilish red skin of her arm is a thin, darker blue stripe, normally hard to see but standing out so much to Adaine.

A vein. 

Her grip tightens without meaning for it to, making it stand out even more. She swears, somewhere underneath the dull roar of clattering cacophony that is the cafeteria, she can hear the sound of Fig’s infernal blood boiling throughout it.

The lack of pressure around her teeth increases in intensity. It’s almost too much to bear. It would be easy to take Fig up on this offer. Part of her’s tempted to. Deeply so.

She hates that she is.

It takes an embarrassingly long time to snap herself out of the near trance the thought sends her into. The others are all staring at her when she does, and a rush of shame floods through her own veins at the realization of how incredibly invested she must’ve looked at the prospect.

She shoves Fig’s arm away. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. I told you, it’s fine,” Fig tries to push back.

“I said no.” Her voice comes out sharper than she means for it to, fueled in part by a hiss sitting at the tip of her tongue she can’t find the strength to hold back. Frustrated at her lack of control, she pushes Fig’s arm down. Hard. 

It doesn’t show on her face, but she can feel Fig flinch just the slightest bit at the motion.

She lets out a protesting whine, a look of hurt burning in her eyes, but does ultimately pull back. Adaine tries not to mourn the loss of heat, fingers twitching absently. “I’m not a stranger though.” 

Adaine sighs. “It doesn’t matter who it is, I don’t want to bite anyone .” Her mouth turns to TV static, buzzing fiercely in protest at the notion and the perpetual drought inside it somehow feel even worse. She swallows, trying to ignore the feeling. “Besides, I don’t know the first thing about how any of this works. I could wind up hurting you.” Or worse , she doesn’t say out loud.

She closes her eyes, tries to envision doing the act: flashing her sharp teeth and letting them sink into someone. The thought is blurry like a mirror after a hot shower, too muddled with questions to make sense of.

How is she even supposed to do it? Is there a particular method to it, a proper angle for it to work? What’s the difference between a bite to drink and a bite to turn? When it’s done to drink, is there a way for her to know when to stop?

Would she even be able to stop herself?

She shivers again, clenches her jaw both in comfort for her aching mouth and to stop her teeth from chattering. Fig, seat still close by, moves to wrap her arm around Adaine’s shoulders, her gaze softening. Even the heat of hell itself isn’t enough to warm her up, but it does at least help her stop shaking. She gives Fig a grateful look and allows herself to lean into her grip.

“What’re you gonna do then? You’ve gotta eat at some point, and this seems like the quickest and easiest solution,” Fig asks, brow furrowed in concern.

“I’ll… I’ll figure something out,” she says quickly. Probably too quickly, and not nearly convincing enough. Fig’s pout remains unchanged. Adaine looks away. “We’ll save it as a last resort, okay? I just… the thought of having to bite anyone is… I’m not comfortable with it.”

No matter how much her jaw tells her otherwise.

“You’re gonna have to get comfortable with trying it eventually, Adaine,” Riz says, similarly worried. “And probably sooner rather than later.”

“I know.” Just… not right this second. Can’t she be allowed this much? “Can we please stop talking about this? What about Zayn? Has anyone seen him around today?” And after a moment of hesitation, off the conversation moves onto the subject of Zayn Darkshadow’s absence and possible whereabouts.

Fig keeps hold of her for the entire rest of lunch. As Gorgug starts talking with some nearby satyr girl about Cravencroft Cemetery, she lets her head dip onto her shoulder, suddenly feeling so tired. Fig’s neck is startling close; just a small turn of her head is all it would take.

She huffs, picks up the juice box instead, and gives it an experimental sip.

It’s not as bad as she was expecting. But it’s not exactly good either.

And it does absolutely nothing to relieve the continually growing thirst itching at the back of her tongue.

Chapter Text

Her thudding heart has always been her least favorite part of her panic attacks. It’s not the worst part of them—that’s a very different kind of category—but it’s the one that heralds all of the other worse symptoms: its pounding rhythm is what her body shakes in time with, its extreme tempo is what steals her breath away. The lack of breath is what makes her brain go fuzzy, what causes her thoughts to start spiraling, and what scatters her focus so much that the only thing she can possibly think about is the worry and fear of whatever triggered the attack in the first place.

It’s an awful cycle. She hates it.

Its absence might be even worse.

There’s a dull void in the place where her heartbeat should be. No booming bass drum thumping. No steady snare drum racing. Just dead, cold silence in the middle of her rib cage. Like a hole’s been hollowed right out of her.

It just gives the panic raging inside her all that much more space to move.

Her breaths are a stuttery, awkward, ill-timed mess. One comes out as a shallow gasp that cuts itself off too soon to fill her lungs. The next, a choked wheeze with too little air to let back out. In one moment her breaths are too fast, caught up in a horrible race against no one but herself; another, it’s as if her lungs are weighed down with molasses, sticky and slow. There’s no metronome anymore to sync her breathing with, no beat to go along to. Without it, her chest heaves wildly out of her control, fueled and guided now only by pure panic itself.

She sucks in another gasp through her teeth, tries to count breaths in her head, tap a finger along her knee, do something to try and normalize it, but she can’t think of the timing. It should be easy—it was there for 14 years. A two day absence is nothing compared to that. But the more she tries to imagine it, the fuzzier the details get.

It’s strange. It’s bad.

It hurts her achingly empty chest.

The chill of the bathroom tile is almost as cold as she is as curls into herself on the floor. Knees tucked up and forehead pressed against them, she wraps herself into a tight ball and tries not to think about how stupid she truly is.

There was a quiz today—necromancy (because of fucking course it was, the world loves nothing more than to laugh at her misery). Not an area she’s ever excelled in. And between all the chaos of the last few days, she was never able to squeeze in a moment to study for it.

The fact that she squeaked by with a 72 is a miracle in and of itself. It’s not a bad score; by definition, it’s perfectly average.

But it’s not good enough. Not for her. Not compared to her stupidly perfect sister and her stupid perfect face. Adaine is never enough compared to her. She could’ve scored a perfect 100 on the quiz and it still wouldn’t be good enough. Not in the eyes of her terrible, terrible parents.

Her parents…

The vice around her ribs tightens at the thought of them. She hasn’t seen them since before she was bit—they were already in their rooms when she snuck inside last night, and she didn’t bother to check for them before she rushed out the door early this morning. There’s no messages on her crystal from them asking for her whereabouts. Has her absence even registered to them?

(A smaller, quieter part of her, usually drowned out by her anger but sounding so loud without her heartbeat around to muffle it, dares to wonder if they even care about the possibility of her being missing. She quickly squashes the thought, anger rising in her for even having it in the first place. She already knows the answer.)

Her parents will not be sympathetic to her if they learn about her current… affliction. The torment she already endures will no doubt get worse. She can’t let them find out. But she also can’t dodge them forever. Her luck will run out and they’ll have to see her again eventually. They care about her so little though. Maybe they won’t notice the differences?

But Aelwyn certainly will. And if she tells them…

Cold dread sweeps through her; she can’t stop shaking. Her breath catches in her throat and comes out a choked, angry sob. Pressure spreads out from the hole in her chest and pulls back, squeezing tight. She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe!

She’s going to die. Except she’s already gone and done that, hasn’t she? Living people have hearts that still work. So instead she’s just going to be stuck like this forever, which she thinks is worse, all because despite everything she still feels the need to breathe and she just can’t fucking breathe-!

Suddenly, warm fingers wrap around her wrist and yank it away from where she’s been digging her nails into her scalp. It’s a firm grasp, but not too tight, and it pulls her hand and leads it against something soft. Fabric.

Adaine lifts her head, and though her vision is blurred by the tears, the shades of bright rainbow tie dye are unmistakable. 

Kristen.

Adaine blinks, still panting as she looks up at her. Her mouth is moving, but she can’t make out the words. Everything sounds as if her head’s been dunked underwater. Slowly, she sees Kristen’s lips mouth the word ‘breathe’ at her, and she quickly shakes her head. What she’s asking is impossible. Can’t be done, not by her.

Her grip around Adaine’s wrist tightens and pulls it further against where she’s placed it. She struggles against it, then stops.

Kristen's heart beats steadily underneath her palm.

She’s placed Adaine’s hand against her chest, she realizes. The soft fabric is her shirt. Noticing the sudden attention, Kristen takes in a deep, exaggerated breath, and nods for her to follow as she exhales it out.

It feels childish to have to be led along with something like this. The idea alone is mortifying enough it nearly makes her spiral again about what her life has become in such little time.

But Kristen’s heartbeat is warm under her hand, and she uses its rhythm to guide and ground herself as she follows along with slow, shaky breaths.

An agonizing amount of time later, the vice surrounding her lungs finally loosens its grip. Her chest is still painfully hollow, but no longer too tight. A mild improvement, at least.

Tension leaks out of her muscles and turns them into jelly. Kristen lets her slide out of her grasp easily. “Thanks…” she mutters. Another embarrassment to add to the pile she’s amassing today. Her face would burn bright red right now if it still could be, she’s sure. “How did you…?”

“I uh… saw the way you were running out of your last class and thought that probably wasn’t the best sign. And uh, hey! I was right.” She lets out a forced laugh that dies off awkwardly when Adaine’s expression doesn’t change. “I tried calling out to you but I don’t think you could hear me. Which uh… fair. This seems like a lot.”

“Oh…” She buries her face against her knees again. Breathing is easier without panic piloting her chest, but it still takes conscious effort to keep it even. Her eyes slide shut, suddenly feeling made of lead. She’s exhausted.

Her mouth twinges again too. Because of course it does, it went a whole five minutes without doing that. And she can’t have that, can she?

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think a lot of people were watching. Or cared even if they were,” Kristen tells her. It’s an attempt to make her feel better, Adaine recognizes, but it’s not working. She doesn’t answer. Kristen lets her sit like that for a moment in silence. “Can I ask what happened or…?”

She nearly laughs. Because where would she even start? This goes so far beyond a bad grade.

“I’m having a bad week,” she settles on saying, and lifts her head back up to look at Kristen with a tired look before she adds, “And my parents really, really fucking suck.”

Kristen winces in sympathy. “Yeah, that’s relatable,” she says. Adaine almost smiles at that. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Maybe another time. But right now… “I just want today to be done with.”

Unfortunately for her, there’s still so much of it left to go. Very much including two more wizard classes, one of which she is definitely late to right now.

She sighs and starts to push herself up, struggling with limbs that feel too heavy to move. Kristen leans forward and extends a hand to help tug her to her feet. When she’s done, she sees Kristen wince and shake out her hand.

“Gods, Adaine. Your hands are freezing,” she says.

“I know.” So is every other inch of her. Maybe she should get some kind of jacket. Would that help?

“Is… is that normal?” Kristen wonders. Suddenly, her eyes go wide, and when Adaine follows her line of sight she finds her staring at the mirror behind her.

Kristen’s reflection blinks back at them. Adaine’s is nowhere to be found.

Adaine lets out a withering sigh that borders on hysterical laughter. 

The chill in her body, the static in her teeth, her too still heart. Fucking, this. None of it’s even remotely normal.

Her knees feel weak again. Kristen reacts first, grabbing hold of her before she can sink down to the floor and clutches her in a tight hug, as if trying to will new heat into Adaine’s body. This close to her, Adaine swears she can hear the sound of Kristen’s pulse racing against her ear. It twitches at the sound. She gives a firm grip back and counts along to the beats, trying to remember what it had felt like in her own body. When it was still normal.

‘Normal’. She scoffs at the thought. What the fuck even is normal anymore? She doesn’t know.

The word lost all meaning to her 48 hours ago.

Chapter Text

Today might be one of the most exhausting days of her life. Her mouth aches, she’s freezing cold, and if she has to hear someone tell her “You’re looking pretty pale today,” or ask her a well-meaning “Are you sick? You don’t look well,” one more time, she’s going to lose it. The final bell can’t ring soon enough, and she’s one of the first out the door once it does.

She wants to be relieved, but she can’t be. Not really. Because while the school day ending solves one set of problems, it also brings up a whole new set of others.

Most prominently: the issue of going outside.

She left this morning before sunrise to purposefully negate the problem. But that’s not an option this time. Even if she could stay inside the school until sunset (which she highly doubts would be allowed, nor does she really want to), she has plans. She’s supposed to go help investigate around Cravencroft Cemetery for any signs of Zayn.

But that’s going to be very difficult to do if she can’t even set foot out the doors. 

She looks down at her hands, at the exposed parts of her legs, and frowns. Gorgug could lend her his hoodie again, she supposes. And Kristen’s said something before about keeping an umbrella in her locker. Maybe that will be enough…?

She slams her locker door shut to find Fabian standing just behind it. She startles. “Fabian! What the hell–?”

She’s cut off by him holding out a brightly colored blue tube to her. “I found this with my things while I was getting ready this morning. It seems like it’d be useful for er… someone like you.”

He all but forces it into her hands. Looking closer at it, there’s the words ‘Vampiric Strength Sunscreen’ printed on the top. Underneath that is an image of a stereotypical cartoon vampire—lacking a shirt and wearing an obnoxiously patterned pair of orange board shorts—laying back on a lounge chair on the beach. A blurb on the back spouts off about how strong it is and how well it can protect even the palest vampire against the intense rays of the sun.

She glances back up at Fabian. He’s leaning back against the lockers, arms across his chest, trying very hard to look casual about giving her such a specific kind of item.

Hm.

“You just happened to have this,” she says, eyebrow quirked. “You, who is not a vampire, by complete coincidence just happened to have a product meant specifically for vampires just laying around in your house. Is that what I’m supposed to believe?”

“Well, I-I-” Fabian sputters, eyes darting around wildly. “W-well, yes, Adaine, of course I did. I’m a man of culture. I like to try a lot of different things out. It takes work to look this good, you know.”

“This is unopened though.”

She swears she sees steam shooting out of his ears. “I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet!” His voice warbles, cracking at the end in a way that almost gets a laugh out of her. Almost. He grumbles and clears his throat. “That’s to your benefit anyway, more for you to use. And I erm… can look through my things again for others if this one isn’t to your liking. It’s supposed to be highly rated though from what I’ve heard about it.”

He ‘found’ it, he says. He's 'heard things about it', he says. Sure. That’s all very believable. It’s definitely not a poor excuse to cover up him being nice to her, not at all.

“You’re being extremely weird about this,” she tells him bluntly. He starts sputtering again. “But… thank you.”

He’s muttering something under his breath, something that sounds like a ‘this is the kind of thanks I get’, but there’s not much heat to the words, so she thinks it’s fine. He straightens up as the others approach them both.

“They make sunscreen for vampires?” Riz asks, eyeing the bottle curiously. She lets him take it to inspect and shrugs.

“Apparently.”

“Huh. Cool,” Fig says. “I was just gonna suggest we cover you with a blanket or something and cut some eyeholes out for you to see through, you know, classic sheet ghost style, but this idea works too.”

“I mean… we still could,” Kristen says, eyes lighting up at the prospect.

“Please don’t.”

Fig cackles. Adaine takes it as her cue to take the tube back and excuse herself to the bathroom to put it on.

It’s not as heavy as she would’ve expected, given how strong it must need to be to work. There’s a brief tingling sensation when she first applies it that slowly disappears as she rubs it in. It might be cold, but with the entirety of her already so frigid it’s hard to be sure. She works carefully, making sure to cover any part of her that could become exposed as thoroughly as she can.

Once she’s done, she rejoins the others by the front doors. She’s the last one out, taking a deep breath and squeezing her eyes shut before she takes the leap of faith and steps outside into the sun.

One second passes. Then two. 

Nothing happens to her. 

Cracking an eye open, she takes a look around. She’s standing outside the door, bright daylight all around her, and she feels perfectly fine.

Tension falls out of not only her shoulders, but everyone else's as well. “To the cemetery then?” She starts down the stairs.

“Er, actually…” Fabian rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I need to stop by Seacaster Manor. I erm… forgot something there.”

Riz makes a face, but nods. “Okay, well… you’ve got that bike still, right? You can just take that and meet up with us there,” he says, already turning around.

“Well, I intend to, yes, but actually I… I need Adaine to come with me,” Fabian says, stepping closer to her.

She blinks. “What? Why me?”

“Because you’re um…” A hand waves in the air, floundering for an answer. “...good at finding things?” His voice has gone pitchy again, just like earlier.

…She’s what?

“Yes…” Fabian doubles down, nodding slowly as if he’s convincing himself of his own words. “Because the reason I don’t have the item I forgot is because I uh… misplaced it. And I just remembered it. So I need help finding it. And Adaine is good at that.”

She just stares. This day has gone on too long, she’s lost it. That’s the only explanation. She gives a lost look at the others. Surely no one believes this, right?

Gorgug shares her sentiment. “Isn’t that more of Riz’s thing? Finding stuff, I mean?”

At the sound of his name, Riz frowns. “Can’t you just look for whatever it is after we’re done? It can’t be that important. You’ve already gotten through the school day without it, and I really want to get started on looking for Zayn.”

“Well, that’s why I’m not asking you, The Ball. I’m asking Adaine.” He gives her an intense stare as he asks, ”You can cast Locate Object, can’t you?” 

She tilts her head. “Well, yes, but–”

“Perfect!” He abruptly grabs hold of her elbow and pulls her closer. A startled squeak pops out of her mouth, a milder version of the hiss that nearly tumbles out instead as she stumbles into his side. “It shouldn’t take long at all then. We’ll meet up with the rest of you there later.”

Riz hesitates for a moment, but then looks at the time on his crystal and nods, sighing. “Yeah, okay, fine. See you there,” he says, and then he and the others are heading off the street without another word to either of them.

“Do I not get a say in this?” She levels a glare toward Fabian. He says nothing, merely huffs before he starts toward the curb, pulling her along with him. “Hey!”

This time, she doesn’t hold back. A few steps in she digs her heels into the sidewalk and lets her lips pull back into snarl, exposing her fangs as a loud, purposeful hiss rises out of her. A swift tug pulls her arm back from him; he lets go easily.

He doesn’t look the least bit intimidated, however. “You can just ask for me to let go. There’s no need for the dramatics,” he tells her, rolling his eyes.

“And there’s no need for you to keep being so weird about everything!” she fires back. “Seriously, what is this actually about?”

There’s a rumbling off in the distance as Fabian’s bike approaches. “I told you: I left something at home, and I need you to help me find it. It’s very important, and I think you’ll understand why once you see it.” The smell of hellish smoke fills the air as the Hangman slows to a stop in front of them, engine roaring excitedly at the sight of them. Fabian swings his leg over and takes a seat, then looks at her expectantly. 

She glances down the street just in time to see Gorgug’s form disappear down the corner. The others aren’t that far, she could still catch up, fully ignore the oddity of whatever this situation is and join them.

But then Fabian will whine about it for ages if she does that, and is it worth having to listen to that?

Probably not.

“Fine.” 

Dread. Cold, impending dread is all she can think about as she stands at the edge of the front door to Fabian’s house. It’s similar to the feeling she gets right before a panic attack—a really bad one. But she doesn’t understand why, there’s nothing to have set this off. The bike ride wasn’t great, having to hold onto Fabian so closely felt super awkward, but it wasn’t that bad.

Fabian, already inside, turns to look at her, expression pinched in concern. “Adaine? What’s wrong?”

“I-I can’t…” she trails off, shaking her head. She doesn’t know.

What the fuck is wrong with her?

“My papa is out right now if that’s what you’re worried about,” Fabian tells her, face pinched in concern. And, no actually, she hadn’t been worrying about that, but now that he’s said it she absolutely is. The last thing she needs right now is for the boisterous form of Bill Seacaster to pop out of nowhere leading a set of sea shanties she’s expected to go along with. 

She hates that idea. But that's not it either.

For some reason, there is a deep-seated certainty within her that, if she tries to step past the threshold into the manor, something terrible will happen to her. 

A long moment passes in concerned silence—one that does nothing to quell her own, more natural anxieties.

Until another voice finally speaks up. “She has to be invited inside, Master Fabian.” Fabian turns to reveal Cathilda standing there behind him, hands folded and a patient smile flashing at them both. “Vampires aren’t allowed inside of a person’s home unless you expressly invite them in.”

“That’s actually a thing? Seriously?” Fabian looks at her incredulously. “Is that really the problem?”

Adaine shrugs. She glances back down at the threshold and tries to envision herself stepping past it, but it’s too heavy a thought to bear, and her feet stay firmly rooted where they are. She feels like she’s going to explode; her heart would be going a million miles a minute if it still moved, she’s sure.

Fabian blinks, seemingly in disbelief, then waves a hand dismissively. “Well, fine. You’re allowed inside. You’ve my permission, or whatever. Is that enough for you?”

Embarrassingly enough, it is. Relief washes through her the moment he speaks, chasing the foreboding feelings away and releasing the tension wound up in her muscles. Her body sags so much she nearly falls and she has to catch herself on the doorway. A moment later, she’s finally able to take a full, unhampered step into the entrance hall of the manor.

Fabian just stares. “This is ridiculous…” She recoils, ears going flat against the side of her skull.

Cathilda, though still with a smile on her face, sends a pointed look with her eyes. “It’s always polite to properly invite your guests inside, Master Fabian. No matter who or what they happen to be.”

Something in his expression withers. “Yes, I… I suppose you’re right, Cathilda. I will… try to remember next time,,” he says, shooting an apologetic look to Adaine. Clearing his throat, he then asks, “Cathilda, my delivery. Did you…?”

She nods knowingly. “Already tucked away for whenever you’re ready to grab it,” she tells him with a reassuring pat on his arm. She moves toward a nearby hallway to take her leave, but stops in front of Adaine first, smiling gently at her. “It’s nice to see you, dear. You’re looking well.”

Adaine doesn’t agree, this is the worst she thinks she’s looked in her entire life, but she mutters out a quiet “thank you” for the comment anyway before Cathilda disappears. At least she’s being polite.

Fabian brings them further into the house, right into the kitchen, just as large and nautical themed as the rest of the place. He stops near the fridge to grab something out of it, humming to himself. Briefly, she thinks that he better not have insisted he come here just to grab himself something to eat. 

She shakes her head. Focus on why they’re here. “What is it that I’m supposed to be looking for exactly?”

“Hm?” He looks confused for a moment. “Ah, right. That. Never mind that, don’t waste your spells. I’ve found it already and uh… it’s for you actually.” He tosses something onto the counter. Something red.

A packet of blood.

Adaine can only stare, wide eyed and mouth agape. There’s so much static buzzing through her teeth it takes her a moment to remember how to speak.  “Fabian, what the fuck? Where did you... How did you…?!” Her brain feels too fuzzy for words, too overwhelmed by the deep red in front of her.

“As it turns out, I was right earlier, there is an easier way of acquiring blood specifically for vampire consumption. Various services that provide it and such. I had one deliver some here earlier,”  he explains as if it’s the simplest concept in the world.

Which… given the plans the others were concocting earlier…

Might be deserved.

“I had to put a rush on it to get it here today, but it just seemed an easier option than trying to raid places every few weeks. I erm… I’m not sure how much you need at a time, but there’s more if that’s not enough for you,” she hears Fabian say, but the words sound distant and muffled to her ears. She sinks into one of the bar stools sitting at the counter without thinking about it. Her fingers reach forward of their own accord, creeping slowly until they’re close enough to wrap around the pack sitting just in front of her and pull it close to her.

She’s never seen blood like this before, stored and contained in something for later use. It’s sort of unnerving, knowing that this is another person’s blood she’s holding. But another part of her—the newer part of her she can’t possibly hope to understand yet—feels excited by it. So much so, that it’s almost all she can focus on.

And she thought staring at Fig’s arm had made her look crazy

The thought snaps her out of her stupor. She’s never felt so fixated on something her entire life; it’s mortifying. Shame floods through her again, and it’s a fight with herself not to coil in on herself. She looks back up at Fabian, at the red of his jacket instead of the red in front of her. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you doing this? Any of this?” she asks, motioning to her sunscreen covered arm, to the blood, all of it. “And don’t give me another weird fake answer again. No one else is here. You don’t need to try and look cool to ‘protect your reputation’ or whatever it is you think you have to do.” She saw him try and jump those tables on the first day of school. ‘Cool’ has long been out the window.

He scoffs. “Okay, first of all: I don’t think I look cool, I know I’m cool. There’s a difference.” His bravado quickly melts away, turning more serious as he continues, “And well… someone had to. Fig was right earlier when she said this was a more immediate problem and well… I’m in a position where I can help with it. It’s… it’s what a good captain does, taking care of their crew.”

The wave of affection rising in her quickly gets matched by another full of irritation. She rolls her eyes. “Not this again…”

“Shut up! Let me finish!” he insists. “My papa was right about that. I’m the captain, and you’re all my crew, and that means I need to be looking out for you all. And I didn’t do that that night and I…” He sighs, avoids her gaze as he looks down and starts tracing his fingers against the marbling pattern swirling along the finish of the countertops. “Had I made some different choices about location and such I… I wonder if maybe your current… situation might be a little different.”

“Oh…” Any remaining anger she still harbored toward him starts to melt away. Because really… “Everything about that night was fucked. Really fucked. I don’t know how much difference you would’ve realistically made in the end.” If it hadn’t been the vampire, then maybe she would’ve actually been bit by the werewolf—Jawbone—instead.

And who knows what would’ve happened then?

Fabian shrugs, expression unchanged. “Well, regardless, I can’t do anything to fix this, but I can do this at least. It’s not a big deal. So… just drink it already.” Fabian suddenly produces a straw out of nowhere and nods his head encouragingly at the pack still held in her hand. 

She takes it wordlessly, too overcome with some kind of fluttery emotion to speak. Poking it inside, it almost resembles the juice box Kristen had given her earlier at lunch, in a very strange kind of way. She hesitates for a moment, feeling torn between two sides of her: the older part of her—the one that she’s lived with for the past 14 years—that tells her this is gross and bad and wrong for her to have, and the newer part of her that doesn’t care about any of that, only this is something she can eat after nearly two days of going without. 

It’s that newer side that wins out. With one last shock shooting through her teeth, she squeezes her eyes shut and tenses as she makes herself take an experimental sip.

Her eyes go wide as soon as the first drop hits her tongue. Unlike the juice box, this actually has a taste. A very strong, very good one. The flavor that washes over her mouth is a sweet kind of tang that practically melts against her tongue. There’s a vague hint of metal along with it, which should be off putting, but she finds she enjoys it. A lot. Relief coats her mouth as the buzzing in her teeth and the dry feeling that have both plagued her all day finally wash away, becoming little more than a distant memory with each mouthful.

She doesn’t stop until she’s about halfway through. She was thirstier than she thought. That thread of embarrassment perks back up at the realization, and she gives a cautious glance up.

Fabian quirks a brow, curious, but not unkindly. “It’s to your liking, I take it?”

“I… yes. Thank you…” she admits, ears pinning back again. She clears her throat. “You’re… you’re a good friend, Fabian.”

A look of surprise blooms across his face, quickly masked. “Of course I am. I’m good at many things, Adaine.” Fabian sputters again, coughs into his fist and turns his head. “Now, hurry up. The Ball will have my head if we take too long here.”

“And we can’t have that,” she agrees. She looks back down at the half-drunk pouch in her hand and smiles as she takes another sip. It comes easy and feels natural—the most natural it’s felt all day. 

There’s that fluttery emotion again, fanning out and spreading through the empty space in her chest, filling it up and making it feel less hollow. Something soft. Kind. Warm. And it only grows stronger the more she thinks about her friends' actions today.

The way Riz sacrificed his time to look into vampirism for her, the way Kristen and Gorgug both looked out for her. How Fig was willing to offer herself up if it meant she had something to eat. All of this with Fabian now.

It’s not enough to chase away the chill, not enough to thaw her icy skin, not enough to make her feel like she did Before. 

But it is the warmest she’s felt all day.

It doesn’t make these changes in her feel any less strange. It doesn’t bring ‘normal’ back to her. But it does make her feel like there is a new kind of normal establishing itself. Something new and strange, something that will take time to adjust to. But, if it's things like this, being cared for by her friends?

She thinks maybe, just maybe, she can manage that.